Brooklyn Academy - We Live This sh** lyrics

[Intro: Mr. Metaphor] Yeah, yeah. One time. Uh huh. Yo. Check it out (Yeah). Yo (Yo), yo, yo [Verse 1: Mr. Metaphor] Sometime I question, “Is God really there or not?” I still swear to rep hard everywhere I rock Talking sh** about my squad when you scared of Block You the sh** under the ground that we stand on top I'll make you listen to the sound with a handgun co*ked The Ac' unsigned, a hundred thousand fans on lock Independent, motherf**ers. We got plans to plot Looking at the big picture for that landing spot And when it drop, it gonna hit like you “Planet Rock” We'll be them cats on your speakers when your answer's hot We'll be them cats on the avenue that ran your block Stupid Brooklyn motherf**ers taking pants and socks And, yo, I don't give a f** about no transit cop I'm coming, charging through this sh** like I'm Lancelot Stay the f** inside the water ‘cause the sand is hot And I'ma burn all your fam and any man you got I spit hollow-tip words that'll jam your Glock And I could hit any target—pick a random spot And I'ma walk the whole desert ‘til the camel drop Stronghold the industry and you could stand and watch [Verse 2: Pumpkinhead] My flow is top-notch. I'm like a Sasquatch When I spit game on tracks, I'll make you jump like hopscotch I don't rock rocks. But when my sh** drop I'ma put ice in my stopwatch. Like Rerun, I pop locks Off the door. Talk the talk ‘til I can't walk no more My sh** swish all night—never off the boards I'm a/I'ma rock like crack c**aine And I'll spit dope sh** it cracks y'all brain I'm like Moses to the ghetto with a robe and a staff And strike down those who worship the [golden cab?] False idols claim they God and don't know the math Them n***as is little fishes in big-mouth ba** They got big cash but they light in the a** Don't get mad. Yo, I'm just a light from your past I'm a underground cat who got the mic in a smash It's Brooklyn Ac', n***as. We got the game tight in our grab And we serious as a lifetime bid With no conjugal visits. I'm just dropping my vision Together, we live it ‘til we dead. Then we rise again With the four horsemen image eight days after Christmas [Hook: Mr. Metaphor and (I-See-On)] (x2) From the birth to the d**h, (son, we live this sh**) On a search, on a quest, (out to get this sh**) Whether we broke or we rich, (yo, we live this sh**) And we ain't never gonna rest (‘til we get this sh**) [Verse 3: Block McCloud] Our flows tight like white knuckles, eat you like dyke lovers In tight covers. We taking flight like the Wright brothers Our type covering this craft like a hovercraft While motherf**ers get lost like rubber ducks in bubble baths I'll be bu*terbean gluttony, you fat f**er You'll get ate like the body of Christ—it's your Last Supper You're roadk**. I'm a redneck, mad trucker You're no sk**—bro, your whole flow's lackluster No shine. You'll get cut off like phone lines Your ho's mine. I dug her out like the coalmine The start of my lines will slaughter you low budget dime recorders I'm in just as you in a diner, ordering water Run for high ground and find now, so we gon' fire rounds ‘Cause you be lying on the ground, making dying sounds My firm is the Ac'. Give ‘em the shirt off my back Murderous tracks, in mercy, clap you as a courteous act [Verse 4: I-See-On] Well, I've been writing for days. Icon turning night to the day Lyrically 2.2 million light years away And I'm not gonna stop until there ice on the grave I'm twenty-two years old now, n***a. Nice for my age I feel like I'm looking at life through the eyes of a slave The sh** that I write will leave your head light in a daze Reciting a page just like you [?] I definitely blow. Brooklyn Ac' inherit the throne Together we rise, together we fall, together we die Forever it's on when you live for a cause You gotta tycoon it. I'm the illest n***a on two legs I peeped your movement. I seen it all through a zoom lens Cover loose ends. I spit like a man with two heads Brooklyn Academy go down in history a cla**ic act like Paul Newman When I was young, I ain't give a f** what them broads were doing f** hoes. Most of these rappers ain't never touched dough Guns and .44 alarms, they never clutched those f** y'all, I'm blowing it up. n***as is buckwild Dumb out, cave in your ribs, punching your lungs out Guns out, aim at the top until the sun's out [Hook: Mr. Metaphor and (I-See-On)] (x2) From the birth to the d**h, (son, we live this sh**) On a search, on a quest, (out to get this sh**) Whether we broke or we rich, (yo, we live this sh**) And we ain't never gonna rest (‘til we get this sh**)